


Timid, driven by thirst

by Malapropian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Crying During Sex, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Negotiated Kink, Omorashi, PWP, Panties, Power Exchange, Pre-Season/Series 04, Watersports, bladder desperation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malapropian/pseuds/Malapropian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter always thought it was ironic how triumph smelled just a like pretty boy crying in his lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timid, driven by thirst

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in November, but I had angrily tossed it aside until this week when I showed a snippet to Taylor and Laura. They nagged me to finish "peefic", and now we have this. This would not have happened without the encouragement of Taylor, Laura, and Elpie. Thank you for loving pee as much as I do. Special thanks to Laura for basically dropping in the doc at every 300 words or so to tell me not to delete everything.
> 
> I'm pretty sure it's not explicit enough to rate an E, but, at the same time, it sort of is? Either way, this is my first explicit fic on AO3. Does that rate some kind of celebration?
> 
> The timeline for this fic is whenever you believe it's happening, but if I had to pin something down... I guess sometime before 3b? Definitely before season 4. Maybe it's canon compliant. I really didn't quibble with the details. I was just trying to write pwp peefic.
> 
>  
> 
> **Tag notes at the end.**

 

 

Over the last few months of this _thing_ he and Stiles had been doing, Peter couldn't help but notice the way Stiles would fill up on liquids and then, after hours of fidgeting, relieve himself. Peter has seen Stiles literally forget that he was on the way to the bathroom. He didn't think Stiles was doing it on purpose, but it was hard to be certain without experimentation. He knew asking the boy would likely result in denials and evasion. Really, it’s not as though he _wanted_ to manipulate Stiles through his caffeine addiction and poor impulse control. It was for the good of his darling, boy. It simply wasn't healthy to deny himself that way—not when he had Peter.

He pushed the brew button as soon as he heard the unmistakable sound of his boy's tread coming down the hallway. This was followed in mere moments by the turn of a key, and Peter had just enough time to stir the requisite amount of sugar into the mug of fragrant black coffee. Only the first cup if all went according to plan. He spared a moment to be grateful that his current glee would be indiscernible from his usual expression of “smug son-of-a-bitch” and turned to greet his very welcome visitor.

Stiles grinned when he saw the mug and reached out with eager hands. "Aww, Daddy." He cooed at Peter in a particularly obnoxious voice he saved for just these occasions.

"For me? You shouldn't have." He shut his eyes after the first swallow. "Mmm. This is just what I needed. It already feels like today won’t fucking end, and I still have homework after we go through those books you found."

“Hm. Then it’s a good thing that I decided to set up the Keurig today,” he offered a charming smile, then sipped at his own suitably sugared and lightened coffee. “All the better for us to _concentrate_.”

It wasn’t fair at all for Peter to use that tone of voice for mundane matters, and he knew it. He’d spent many enjoyable evenings training the boy to respond to it in a particular manner, and now was no exception. Stiles gave a full-body shudder and his coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim before he grabbed it in both hands and glared.

“Seriously unfair,” he gritted out.

“Why, darling, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Peter sat on the slip-covered leather couch and patted the cushion next to him. “The sooner you finish, the sooner we can do something… more to your liking.”

 Stiles grumbled as he sprawled on his half of the couch but let Peter place his coffee mug on a coaster carefully positioned out of the way of flailing limbs.

"You’re such an asshole,” he sniffed. “Are you actually trying to remind me of my grandma with the couch cover and the coasters and your spotless, hardwood flooring?”

“Yes, Stiles. My greatest ambition is to give you an erection while making you think of her.”

He looked back in horror. “I can’t tell when you’re joking anymore. I hate you. Just pass me the creepy lamb book, and we can forget the last two minutes ever happened.”

At that blatant attempt at manipulation, Peter raised a brow. “This book has been around longer than your family has been in America. It is made of vellum, and it’s staying away from all food and beverages.”

“Ugh. Whatever,” he muttered and quickly arranged his laptop and his half of the books.

“I’ll make it up to you after your homework,” Peter offered. “If you’re a good boy, then I’ll give you a surprise.” He hid a satisfied smile at the way the boy’s pupils dilated briefly.

“Is it a nice surprise or one of your douchebag surprises?” Stiles asked in hard-won caution.

“Oh, I think it’s a  _very_ nice surprise,” he said, “but you’ll have to let me know what you think.”

* * *

Peter watched in avid hunger as Stiles stood up from the spot by his feet where he had absently migrated within the first hour of reading. His single-minded focus on cataloguing, and later American history, was such that he had barely acknowledged the way his mug never quite ran empty except to drink while it was still warm. A willing victim, he had released the most delicious, little whines after drinking the last few cups; now the habitual fidgeting had taken on an air of urgency—Peter could almost call it distress.

It was time for the next step.

He was in the middle of bending in a precarious backwards curve that exposed the faded tracery of scars and the startling line of dark hair on his abdomen. He was the picture of vulnerability—which is when Peter chose to make his move.

Peter stalked forward on light feet, though his stealth was wasted on the completely distracted boy flaunting his belly to a predator. The soft moan of relief as Stiles popped his back only enhanced his presentation as something soft and vulnerable—ripe for the taking. Without warning, Peter jerked Stiles up into a standing position, easily pulling his boy into his arms so they’re pressed together from shoulders to groin. As always, using a werewolf’s greater strength against Stiles made him stretch out his long, pale neck and thrust his hips up in a mindless plea for attention.

“Hey, Daddy.” Stiles panted. “Did you miss me?”

Peter hummed as he scraped his stubble against Stiles’ bared neck and enjoyed the rapid bloom of pink on such pale skin.

“Of course, I did, sweetheart. I always want to be inside you. Are you ready for your surprise?”

“Yes, please.” Stiles moaned and rocked his hips forward again.

“None of that now.” Peter smirked as he released the boy and took two steps back. Stiles was already fully erect and obscene in his want. It was clear to see that only sheer force of will to be a good boy kept him from throwing himself back at Peter and begging to be touched. The combined scent of their arousal was delicious.

“You’re going to take your clothes off and fold them neatly. Then I want you to kneel on the couch, holding onto the backrest. You’re going to wait there quietly and not touch yourself. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Daddy,” he agreed thoughtlessly. The cloud of arousal was tinged with slightly sour discomfort, and Peter wondered if he even noticed that he was rubbing his thighs together and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Perfect.

“Good boy.”

Peter settled back in a recliner that had not been slip-covered to within an inch of its life. So far, the plan was progressing nicely, but Stiles wasn’t nearly as desperate as he should be. He tsked as Stiles wrestled himself out of his shirts and flung them off and simultaneously tried to divest himself of his shoes. “Slower, baby. It’s not a race. Don’t forget to fold everything when you’re done.”

The man allowed his eyes to trail over the mussed hair, bitten lip, and chest littered in fading bruises and bite marks - _his_ marks. He popped open his button fly and began to stroke his cock. “Now the pants.”

Stiles whimpered at the sight of Peter jacking off to his half-naked body, but he obeyed the order of “slower”. He took in several deep breaths before moving his hands to his waist and slipping the button out and easing the gently zipper down. By the time he pushed the jeans off of his hips, the boy was trembling in only a pair of indecently sheer purple, mesh panties that had decorative black ribbons lacing up the sides. It was almost cute the way the tip of his wet cock shyly peeked from the top.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed as he stroked himself faster. “Aren’t you just Daddy’s sweet boy? Did you wear those for me? Leave on your pretty panties and get on the couch, so I can give you your surprise.”

The awkward way his boy clambered on and gripped the couch back was forgotten when he stuck out his ass without shame and let out wordless, pleading whines. They grew to a fever pitch as Peter remained in his chair, though he’d stopped stimulating himself once his boy was in position.

“Is that how good boys wait?” The noises ceased abruptly at his question, but Peter simply cleared off the coffee table. “All of this whining makes me think that you haven’t learned to be patient. Do you want me to touch you, or do you want to be left here with the vibrating plug until I think you’ve learned a lesson?”

He stowed the books and laptop on a random shelf and unlocked the table’s lid. Peter plucked out the toy and trailed it over Stiles’ ass. At the sad whimper, he began to push it against the cloth barrier protecting his clenching hole. “Baby,” he reminded, “I’m still waiting for an answer.”

“No. Daddy, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. Please don’t leave me here like that!”

“Shh,” he soothed, continuing his teasing motions. “I won’t leave you like that as long as you keep showing me how sweet you can be. Now, be still for Daddy.”

All at once, he let the plug drop onto the couch and landed a solid slap to Stiles’ ass before spreading it apart. Peter smiled in genuine pleasure when the boy was able to cut off his gasp and rewarded him by leaning forward to lave at the spasming muscle through the mesh. His baby boy was always so responsive. Even an indirect rimming had him biting his lips nearly bloody in an attempt to hold in his sounds. Peter redoubled his efforts, stretching the fabric to its limit as he mimicked the fucking Stiles had to look forward to. He pulled back only when the pretty, purple panties were stretched and soaked through, darkened with his saliva. They weren’t nearly close enough to ruined in his opinion.

Clinging to the couch, Stiles had his teeth buried in one wrist, attempting to stifle the pathetic keens Peter had reduced him to. _Beautiful._

“Did you enjoy having my tongue on you? Having your greedy ass licked out?” Peter dragged human-sharp nails over the reddened skin of Stiles’ inner thighs and laughed at the muffled shriek. “Poor, baby. Is something wrong? Go ahead and tell me.”

The boy sniffled once, wetly, and said in a quivering voice, “I have to pee. _Please, Daddy._  I’ll be right back.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. You knew we were going to play after your homework, but you drank all that coffee. If you want to pee, then you’re going to do it here... and you’re going to ask me _very nicely_.” Peter stroked over the boy’s back as he processed this new demand.

But Stiles had neither signalled a wish to stop play, nor had his body indicated anything resembling unwillingness. No, he knew beyond doubt that Stiles wanted this as much as or more than Peter did. The longer the boy had ignored his full bladder the more his usual scent took on the musk of arousal, and it only grew stronger as it was joined by the distinct smell of discomfort edging into pain and the perfect amount of piquant shame to make it interesting. Shame and sex were one of Peter’s favorite olfactory combinations, but there was a touch too much of the former. An excess of humiliation could cost him the whole game.

Succumbing to his stunted nurturing instinct, Peter plucked up the kneeling boy and arranged him on his denim covered lap, wiping away the distressed tears with gentle fingers.

“Do you want to continue, Stiles?”

His reluctance to answer was palpable, and when it came it was whisper soft. “Yes, please.”

It wasn’t a resounding yes, but it was good enough for his purposes. As they said, _the show must go on_.

“Then prove it.” Peter leaned back against the soft, water-resistant cover. “You’ve been a rather selfish boy neglecting your daddy this way. You’ve been here hours without even kissing me when I’ve been so nice.” At the surprise on Stiles’ face, he lifted a brow in response—a sign the boy recognized because he immediately lurched forward in a clumsy kiss.

Amused by the rapid reaction, Peter took control of their kiss. One hand easily spanned the width of Stiles’ throat while his thumb came to rest at the hinge of his jaw. Stiles groaned at the pressure and grew pliant in his hold. His mouth opened obediently; and he sucked on Peter’s tongue, uncaring where it had been a few short minutes ago.

Kissing Stiles was no hardship with his plush, pink lips and remarkable enthusiasm for any sort of oral activities, but Peter was past ready to move things along. If the restless squirming atop his bare cock was any indication, then so was Stiles.

He tore himself away from that eager mouth, shoving him away so he could drag his stubble against a puffy nipple. With each scrape, he could feel the uncontrollable twitch of Stiles’ cock where he was helplessly grinding on Peter’s abs. He wrapped his lips around a nipple and pinched at the other. The rising smell of desperation told him that he’d be able to bury himself in the young body perched on his lap—as soon as he fetched the lube.

Peter regretfully abandoned both nipples and pulled Stiles into another kiss while reaching into his pocket for the tube. A quick flick and a twist saw his fingers coated in the stuff. Before he’d dealt with the panties. For a moment, he considered the simple expedient of ripping them off, but no. He wanted to see them ruined. The decision was made in a tiny moment, so there’s no hint of a pause before he tugged them aside and plunged one slick finger in to its limit. He couldn’t help but swallow down the squeal released by Stiles. The sharp hunger for all of the boy’s sounds drove him to add another finger before he intended, but the hole barely rippled around him, accepting his rude intrusion even as Stiles rocked in a jerky, halting motion.

There was something undeniably beautiful in the feeling of Stiles's rim stretching around his fingers or his cock like it was made to fit only him. Under normal circumstances, that combined with the titillation of this new experience might have been enough to make Peter fuck him hard and fast - to forget his plans and simply fill all these pretty holes with his cum; but Peter refused to ruin everything when, judging from the desperate sounds coming from Stiles, victory was literally almost close enough to taste.

Peter bit down on the lush, bottom lip he’d sucked into his mouth before he said, “Are you ready to ask for what you want, sweet boy?”

His only answer was a convulsive shudder and the plaintive cry of “Daddy”.

He narrowed his eyes and shoved in two more fingers at once, but Stiles stubbornly refused to beg. Clearly the boy needed encouragement, so Peter upped the ante by jabbing those fingers into his prostate with unerring accuracy and teasing his perineum with a thumb nail.

“You know what I want to hear. There won’t be any orgasms from you until I do. You _know_ I can come in your tight ass and leave you high and dry after a good pounding. Is that what you want, pet? You know I hate to leave you wanting.”

Eventually, the stimulation proved too much for him, and he couldn’t stop trembling and clutching at Peter. He whispered, “Please.”

Never above petty meanness, Peter spread all four fingers inside of him and asked, “What was that, baby? I can’t hear you.”

Stiles gave a full-body jerk and moaned, “ _Fuck!_ Please, Daddy. Fuck me. Give me your cock. Please. Daddy. Please.”

“Ohh, baby boy. That was so close, but it’s not what I need to hear. Try again.”

He writhed on Peter’s fingers, his face twisted with shame, his scent suffused with desire, and then he sobbed, “Daddy. Let me—I need to piss. I’m so _full_ . Hafta pee. Let me piss myself while I ride your cock. Wanna soak my panties in piss and cum. _Daddy_ , please. Let me be good for you.”

And _there_. Exactly the surrender he’d been waiting for. Peter always thought it was ironic how triumph smelled just a like pretty boy crying in his lap.

Peter captured his mouth in one last tongue-filled kiss before sighing out a pleased, “Sweetheart. That was _perfect_. Hold your panties for me.”

Stiles held them out of the way and whimpered at the feel of Peter’s fingers easing out of his sore hole. He went still at the touch of Peter’s cock on his rim, but he kept his grip on them and sank down until he felt denim scratch his ass and thighs.

“There you are,” Peter crooned as he grasped his waist and showed Stiles the speed and rhythm he wanted. “Don’t you feel better admitting to Daddy what you want?”

“Yes, Daddy,” he breathed into Peter’s neck. “‘m a good boy. I’ll tell you next time.”

“I know you will, sweetheart. You can come as soon as you piss all over us. Just keep on bouncing. Make it good for me.”

Peter knew that Stiles wouldn’t last much longer, but his attempt was all the more lovely for its futility. The boy’s needy ass clutched at him, but he’d ceased riding and reverted to dirty, circular grinds making the fat cock drag across his prostate and bringing tears to his lust-darkened eyes.

If he was being honest, then he’d admit that Stiles wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t last much longer. Peter was perilously close to coming though he’d only been fucking him for a few minutes. He’d let the build up go too long to expect endurance now. However, that didn’t mean he was willing to come before his boy did.

With that goal in mind, Peter reached past the waistband to grip the boy’s slender cock in a rough hand, ruthlessly running his thumb over the head. He stroked in counterpoint to the grinding on his own cock, and pressed his nail _hard_ against the slit - not quite breaching it. That was all it took for Stiles to stiffen on and around him. His inner walls clamped down viciously on Peter as he released the painful hold on his bladder, spraying them both in dark urine that carried the faint aroma of coffee.

Stiles waws all ecstatic, surrender as his mouth dropped open and he _wailed_. The look on his face was transcendent. Glorious. Seeing and smelling the blissful state from emptying his bladder was all it took for Peter to orgasm, cradled by the hot clench of Stiles’ body. Snarling, he grabbed the boy’s hips and dragged him down as he thrust wildly, using him like a toy on his pulsing cock.

Finally sated, sitting in a puddle of piss, Peter nudged Stiles’ lips with his own. “Come for me, pet.”

He shifted on Peter’s still hard cock and made a half-hearted protest. “Can’t. Peed it all out.”

“Hm. Somehow I don’t think that’s the case.”

Ignoring Stiles’ mutters, he fisted the tacky, wet cock in a tight grip and pumped. At the rising moans, Peter anchored him with his free hand and angled his cock to bump his swollen prostate. “Do it, sweetheart. Be a good boy. _Come now._ ”

“Fuck! _Daddy!_ ” Stiles yelled as he lost control for the second time. Spent and shivering, he collapsed in a sticky heap on Peter’s chest and blinked slowly. “I did good?”

“So good, baby. My good boy.”

“Can it be naptime?”

“Dirty boy,” he said fondly. “Let me clean us up and get you into bed.”

 

* * *

 

As Peter eased him off his softened cock, he’s surprised at how much he meant what he’d told Stiles. He really had done well—the whole scene was so much _more_ than he hoped it would be. He mused on experience as he carried him to the bedroom.

Filled with an uncharacteristic tenderness, he allowed his nurturing instinct free reign. He took great care in laying out Stiles, stripping him of his sodden underwear, and wiping his sticky skin with the soft cloth resting in the heated basin he’d prepared beforehand. He paid careful attention to the raw, stubble burned patches and red, swollen rim. Stiles simply laid there pliant and unbearable in his trust.

He made certain that water bottles as well as Stiles’ favorite flavor of KIND bar were close at hand. It was a necessity as much as an escape when he left to toss the slip-cover and the rest of the urine-soaked clothes in the washer and take a two minute rinse in the shower.

The way Stiles lit up and stretched out a hand on his return was like a gut punch. “C’mere, Daddy.” He yawned.

Months ago, Peter might have kicked him out after a scene, but now he’s wrapped around a soft, warm body that curls around him in something like adoration. He’d never been the cuddling type, but somehow he kept finding himself here. In bed with Stiles. Out of bed with Stiles. Spending enjoyable, non-sexual time with Stiles. It wasn’t boring or tedious as he’d first expected. In fact, it was always… _interesting_.

“Sleep, baby.” He murmured before indulging in the impulse to kiss him soft and sweet and _so good_ \- miles away from dull mediocrity.

Maybe he’d want to keep Stiles around indefinitely if he continued to exceed expectations like this.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Tag notes:**  
>  The non-negotiated kink is explained pretty early on, but Peter decides to set up a bladder desperation scene without discussing it with Stiles. Stiles is totally into it, and has a safeword if he is not. He never uses his safeword. 
> 
> As always, please let me know if you saw a typo or other mistake that was missed during the editing process.


End file.
